Life

Are You Out There, Uncle Bob?

lillian7 Comments

Never planned to join the circus,
although there is a hereditary tendency.
My Uncle Bob ran away to the circus,
several times. But he always came back.

Never planned to join the circus,
but what a circus we’re living in now!
Twenty-four-seven news cycle,
clown leading buffoons under the big top.

Never planned to join the circus,
but it’s tempting to become an escape artist.
I’d lose myself in romance novels and Netflix,
or any kind of my own-made cocoon.

Uncle Bob, if you’re anywhere out there,
somewhere in the cosmos,
help us find our way back home again.
Just like you always did.

Kim is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. She asks us to write a poem “that starts with a surprising hook, which can be one to three lines, but must develop into a fully-fledged poem.”

A bit of explanation: in a few years, I’ll become an octogenarian. I actually did have an Uncle Bob, who every time his wife became pregnant, ran away to the circus. Absolutely true – he had four children so he ran away four times! But he always came back- well before they were born. He was a wonderful uncle and as my childhood memories recall, had a lot of fun with his kids.

PS: here in the U.S., this is no time for any of us to be escape artists. It’s time to speak out, stand up, and resist!

We stand . . . .

lillian3 Comments

. . . on the precipice, fulcrum loaded,
solar eclipse of political moves.
Millions watch across the globe
piece by piece, light diminishes.
Cold suffocating hot air engulfs a nation
as vitriol spews. Lies repeated hold strong

Sleep marred by days of nightmares.
Innocents assaulted, banished.
Aid rescinded, innocents die.
What power are my words
when thousands follow blindly
refusing to call the man what he is.

User and abuser of people.
Expunger of honest history
repeating tenets of horrific history.
One-armed salutes
multiply behind closed doors.
We live now in a darkly evil tunnel.

Humans hammer on its cold metal walls
scream warnings sadly unheeded.
Spineless creatures grovel in the muck
lick the boot, kiss the ring,
subservient to an orange tyrant
who redefines the words “bully pulpit”.

Poem created and published
* the day after Harvard refused to capitulate to Trump’s demands for federal oversight on admissions, curriculum, faculty hires, and general University policies

* on the day Trump retaliated by freezing $2 billion of federal funds from Harvard including critical research grants to Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston Children’s Hospital, Brigham-Women’s Hospital, Dana-Farber Cancer Insstitute and Beth Israel Deaconess Mecial Center (all affiliated with Harvard Medical School).

*one day after Trump defied the Supreme Court’s order announcing in a press conference while meeting with the President of El Salvadore, that he would not ask for the release of Kilmar Abrego Garcia from an El Salvadore prison, even though his administration admitted his abduction and imprisonment there was an “administrative error”.

*and at least one month after Trump cancelled 5800 USAID contracts including some related to polio, HIV, tuberculosis, and malaria clinics in African countries. “People will die,” said Dr. Catherine Kyobutungi, executive director of the African Population and Health Research Center, “but we will never know [how many] because even the programs to count the dead are cut.”

Image made on Bing Create.

Zoo Keepers See Danger Ahead

lillian23 Comments

A flamboyance followed
the out-of-control antics
of the most orange one.
They dumbly stood on one leg
seemingly unable
to stand on their own two feet.

Conspiracies exploded in numbers
as zookeepers looked on aghast.
These animals were becoming
a colony, a clan,
a bloat on the community,
a herd of blind cows.

Behaviorists know otters may romp,
crocadiles bask, and zebras dazzle.
But humans who gaggle,
needlessly creating a pandemonium,
deliberately crashing the order of things
that’s dangerous to every zoo in the world.

All zoo keepers must issue a warning:
Beware the squeal of a muskrat
in cahoots with a flamboyance.
Remember the movie “The Birds” –
they gather precariously on a high wire,
the murder creating the cacophony.
We cannot let them succeed.

Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is April Fool’s Day and in keeping with the date, Melissa asks us to write a poem that is partially a lie and partially the truth. She suggests a 60% to 40% ratio.

Not sure about my percentages….but suffice it to say, my poem is not about a zoo. There is much truth here however. Note the use of actual names for groups of animals.
Flamboyance: a group of flamingos (who are orange and often stand on one foot)
Conspiracy: a group of lemurs
Colony: a group of ants
Clan: a group of hyenas
Bloat: a group of hippos
Herd of cows
Romp: a group of otters
Bask: a group of crocodiles
Dazzle: a group of zebras
Gaggle of geese
Pandemonium: a group of parrots
and finally, a Murder is a group of crows.

Image by Kev from Pixabay

November 7, 2024

lillian4 Comments

A new day,
sun shining spreads its warmth.
Rays of hope still glisten
on foam capped waves.
Steady tide
still rhythmically constant
beneath visible turbulent churning.

Autumnal brilliance shed.
Trees bared to skeletal frames
understand new seasons will arrive.
Therefore, I choose
to model hope, love and civility.
Our next generations
need us to believe.

Written on this day, after the 2024 election. Image from Pixabay.com


Our Road

lillian29 Comments

Our road, rain slicked by spring storms,
slippery driving through rivulets.
Garden store trips for flower flats
bring beautiful garden blooms.

Summer haze simmers above its asphalt.
Seashore drives with our kids
from toddler through teenage years.
Back seat songsters to quiet texters.

Our road, dressed in autumn’s finest.
Bright yellows to burnt oranges,
like bouncing shimmering can-can skirts.
Costume changes in passing seasons.

Difficult on many winter days,
snow covered, sometimes impassable.
Homebound, cocooned by drifts,
content to savor relaxing by the fire.

Our road,
our passage to and from.
Just the two of us. Then three, then four.
Now as two again.

The straightaways
always faster than any other part,
made distance and time fly by.
Used to be our favorite parts.

Our road, these days?
We prefer the meandering parts.
The curves and bends that slow us down,
taking longer to reach the end of the road.

It’s Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Sanaa asks us to post any poem of our choosing, or an ekphrastic poem related to the image she provided above.

NOTE: Sanaa will also host dVerse LIVE on Saturday, from 10 to 11 AM New York time. Look HERE for an embedded link that will take you with audio and video to a LIVE meeting where folks from around the globe will read a poem of their choosing aloud to the group – OR just drop in to watch and listen. The more the merrier!

Do You Know Them?

lillian10 Comments

String of Black Pearls.
Ida B. Wells, Daisy Bates
Maya Angelou, Amanda Gorman
Toni Morrison, Lorraine Hansberry
Rosa Parks, Angela Davis
Shirley Chisholm, Barbara Jordan
Misty Copeland, Aretha, Ella,
Etta, Billie, Viola Davis
Oprah, Simone Biles
Jessica Watkins
Dr. Kizzmekia Corbet
and Kamala Harris


Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Lisa asks us to include the word “string” or a form of the word (not a synonym) in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.

Image of Kamala Harris painted by artist Jo Hay.

Ode to Julia

lillian19 Comments

Julia’s delectable mousse au chocolat,
my annual nod to France’s Noel.

Best qualité chocolat
les oeufs: yolks and whites separated
unsalted butter and deep dark espresso
splash of citrusy Grand Marnier
sugar only to slightly sweeten.
Whisking, whisking,
beating, beating,
licking fingers,
licking whisk.
Final touch, the folding.
Soft-peaked egg whites
into sinful chocolate mixture.
Airy deliciousness carefully spooned
into grandmother’s crystal goblets.
Gently placed on refrigerator shelf
until its late night serving.

Christmas Eve dinner done.
We sit quietly savoring
this melt-in-your-mouth dessert.
Julia’s delectable mousse au chocolat,
our annual nod to France’s Noel.


Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Sanaa is pubtending and asks us to write a poem about food! And yes, I do make Julia’s Mousse au chocolat every Christmas! The page for the recipe in this book is well spattered and smeared with chocolate and has my notes all over it. It is truly delicious!!!

Stillness

lillian3 Comments

In the stillness I try to quiet my mind.
In the stillness I strain to hear
your voice,
your wisdom,
your insight.

In the stillness I am aware of everyday sounds,
the clock ticking,
the hour chiming,
the redbird chirping.

A car passes,
time passes,
life passes.

Stillness please come and remove all other sounds
and let me hear your voice to be my guide this day.


Written by dear friend, Lindsey Ein. I inserted her words in Bing Create and it generated the image. Lindsey will read her poem aloud today at dVerse LIVE.

Come join us at dVerse LIVE today, from 10 to 11 AM New York time. You’ll find the link to join HERE. There’s an audio and video feed and folks from across the US, Pakistan, Australia and the UK have already responded that they’ll be there. Come sit in to listen…..or come read a poem of your choosing. The more the merrier!

Black Woman with Peonies

lillian35 Comments

Fresh peonies, sir? For the lady in your life?
Bouquet of crimson and gold tulips
for your table, ma’am?
She walks the market every morning,
flower basket in hand .

Cotton sweater wards off cool breeze.
Delicately notched white linen collar,
embroidered in tiny stitches,
frames her stoic sable face.
Modest madras head scarf
reveals pomegranate-red earrings
hanging below her earlobes.

She approaches early shoppers,
queries softly. Hides her anxiety.
These beautiful blooms
her livelihood.


Written for OLN at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. OLN is Open Link Night when writers can post any one poem of their choosing OR use the optional prompt given.

As host for OLN today, I’ve provided an optional ekphrastic prompt. An ekphrastic poem is one that is inspired by a piece of art so today, I’ve provided the painting, Black Woman with Peonies by French Impressionist painter, Frederic Bazille. Born in 1841, he created this beautiful painting in 1870, the last year of his life.

Consider this an INVITATION!
I’m also hosting dVerse LIVE on Saturday, May 11th from 10 to 11 AM Boston time.
Folks from across the globe participate as we meet with audio and video for an hour. Each attendee is welcome to read a poem of their choice OR they can simply come by to watch and listen. We’re a very friendly bunch! One of the last sessions I hosted had folks from across the US, Pakistan, the UK, Sweden, Kenya, Australia, Trinidad Tobago, India, and Finland! If you’d like to join us click on the link below on Saturday, May 11th – beginning at 10 AM.

https://meet.google.com/pxr-nobe-oir

Hope to see you Saturday morning!

PS: if the link above doesn’t work, click here which will take you directly to the dVerse page that includes a direct link to the LIVE session!

Pollyanna . . .

lillian14 Comments

. . . that’s not my name,
but it could be.
A Pollyanna is defined
as one who is optimistic,
always cheerful.
Looking toward the sun,
even in the rain.
For me, a rainy day is a
make-your-own-sunshine
kind of day.
In today’s divisive political climate,
our world fraught with horrific wars,
our earth struggling
as humans threaten its survival,
all the more important to remember
the sun is always there.
Even behind the darkest overcast skies.
I call it hope.


Lisa is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. She asks us to consider the words pilgrimage, walkabout, and wandering, providing a poem for each of the words. One option within her prompt is to “take a line from one of the poems and expand on it.” I’ve used the line “looking toward the sun, even in the rain” from the poem Walkabout by Caren Krutsinger.

AND, consider this an INVITATION to all who read my poem to join us at dVerse LIVE on Saturday, May 11th from 10 to 11 AM New York time. A link will be provided at the dVerse site on Thursday, May 9th that will take you to the LIVE site, with audio and visual. You’re welcome to join us just to sit in and watch and listen; and/or to read aloud a poem of your choice. Last time I hosted our LIVE session we had folks from the US, UK, Sweden, Kenya, Finland, Trinidad Tobago, India, Pakistan, Australia and Israel! All participation is in English. Hope you drop by!